L06 Leopard's Prey

by Christine Feehan

  Bijou had the feeling the only way to save herself from her reaction to his Cajun charm was to run for her life. She must have unconsciously started to pull away from him because his fingers tightened like a shackle around her wrist, holding her still.

  “Then don’ be distractin’ me,” he admonished.

  It was impossible not to laugh. “I can see why Saria says you always get your way. You’re very persistent and charming at the same time.”

  “Thank you.”

  She shook her head. “That was not a compliment.”

  He tapped the letters.

  Bijou sighed. “It was the progression more than anythin’ else that scared me. I was in LA when I found the first one. Then when I moved to be closer to the university I was attendin’, I found the same thing in my underwear drawer.”

  Remy sat up straighter. “He was in your house? In your bedroom?”

  She nodded. It was rather humiliating to have to admit any of it. “On my underwear. The eye was drawn on a pair of lacy boy shorts with spray paint.” She felt the color creeping up her neck. There was no way to stop it.

  “And you didn’t go to the police?”

  His voice had gone very soft. She went still, the hair on the back of her neck raising in response to his tone. Her body recognized danger.

  “The point is,” she said hastily, “in the beginning, whoever was stalkin’ me just left his silly eye in spray paint and that was the end of it. About a year ago he started addin’ messages about me sinnin’ and how I was goin’ to pay for it.”

  When he started to say something she held up her hand. “This is difficult for me, Remy, so let me just get on with it. He started breakin’ into Bodrie’s properties and then those last three letters were sent by the same man, I’m certain of it. They aren’t very nice. This has been goin’ on for years with no sight of him, just that stupid eye starin’ at me. But those letters . . .” She trailed off, glancing at his set jaw.

  She was trembling and knew he could feel it because his hand was wrapped around her wrist. There was nowhere to hide. “Hopefully when you read them, you’ll understand. They’re fairly graphic, and he’s definitely been watchin’ me. Everywhere I go, even in my own home. He has to be gettin’ in the house and finding a way to watch me.”

  Remy’s gaze moved past her to the street and then back to her. “I want you to turn slightly to your left and look across the street. There’s a man standing on the grass over there, back behind the tree. He’s watchin’ us and has been since we entered the café. Tell me if you’ve seen him before.”

  Remy had sat there, all calm and composed, never letting on, yet he’d noticed someone outside the café watching them. She’d been so wrapped up in Remy, she wouldn’t have noticed if the man had stood over her. Even now, she could barely pull her gaze from his. His eyes and voice were hypnotic. There was something feral about his unblinking stare, and she was trapped in his dangerous spell and her own hero worship.

  Her heart kicked into high gear in anticipation of the possibility of uncovering the identity of her stalker. Her mouth went dry. Remy’s fingers stroked comfort along her wrist. “If he sees me looking, won’t he run?”

  “I have the advantage of havin’ a cell phone and four brothers. Take a look. If he notices and takes off, the boys will shadow him.”

  Remy and his brothers were always an impressive sight when they were together. She had always wanted to be part of a big, noisy family. Not waiting, Bijou turned her head and looked straight across the street.

  The man looked to be about forty, with shaggy hair and a beard. He was a good distance away, but he was definitely looking through the window at her. Their eyes met. He looked away quickly and turned on his heel and walked briskly away.

  Bijou frowned. “I’ve seen him around, Remy. I’ve been in so many clubs and given so many concerts, it’s impossible to tell for certain, but I think Rob knows him, Rob Butterfield, my manager.”

  “He’s not the only one watching you, Blue. That idiot Ryan Cooper is hangin’ out by his car, but his attention is on you.”

  “I didn’t actually autograph anything for him,” Bijou reminded. “He got ugly and you read him the riot act. He probably wants an autograph and is waitin’ for me to leave without you.”

  “That’s not going to happen. I’m headin’ down to the voodoo shop to talk to Eulalie Chachere. You can go with me.”

  She blinked, sitting up straight. He almost sounded as if he was giving her an order instead of an invitation, but maybe she was just being sensitive. She had fallen too far under his spell and needed to pull back. “I have a few things to do this afternoon.” She had planned to walk around and get reacquainted with the French Quarter before returning to the Inn. It wasn’t pressing but it was self-preservation. If she spent too much more time in Remy’s company she would be well and truly lost.

  He smiled at her and her heart nearly stopped. His mouth curved, bringing his lips to her instant attention. His teeth flashed white and strong. The bottom dropped out of her stomach.

  “I’m askin’ you to accompany me. I like your company even if you are a bit of a hothead.” The humor faded from his eyes. “I am going to be talkin’ to her about the altar the killer left behind and that might be upsetting to you.”

  Her temper kicked into high gear. He did think she was a baby. He would never have even considered that Saria would be upset by the discussion of the details of a murder. Again color swept up her face. She’d thrown up. The evidence had been left behind, messing up the crime scene.

  “I wouldn’t mind comin’ along and hearing what the voodoo lady has to say,” Bijou snapped. “Let’s go right now.” She knew she sounded annoyed and challenging, but she couldn’t help it. Lately she’d been restless and moody. She’d always been edgy anyway, and now it seemed so much worse. She was driven, but didn’t know to what. Sometimes she spent nights just pacing, trying to get rid of the edgy darkness that seemed to be spreading through her.

  His slow grin sent a million butterflies winging their way through her stomach. “You are a little hothead, Blue.” He gave a mock sigh that made her heart skip a few beats. “I guess I’ll be the one to rein in the temper.”

  She deliberately rolled her eyes. “I have way more control.”

  His gaze jumped to hers, held her captive. There was something very hot and sexy in his eyes. “I’m takin’ that as a challenge, chere. I’m certain, if I put my mind to it, I’ll find a way to make you lose control.”

  His drawl was quite frankly sinful, his voice implying things she didn’t dare think about. Lately she’d had too many nights when being celibate seemed impossible. Her body out of the blue would suddenly grow hot and tight and needy. She knew the moment that happened again, she would be thinking of Remy Boudreaux and fantasizing like crazy. If she wasn’t already, she was going to turn into a lobster, terrified he could read her mind.

  “Let’s go before those people in that booth over there work up their courage and come ask for your autograph,” Remy suggested.

  “I promised your friend I’d sign something and have my picture taken with her husband,” Bijou said. “I need to do that before we go.”

  “We’re goin’ out of here through the kitchen,” Remy decided. “And you’re goin’ to get it done fast or you’ll be starting another riot.”

  She frowned at him. It was that or throw herself at him. He was so darned mesmerizing. “I certainly didn’t start a riot. But you’re right,” she had to concede with a quick, nervous glance toward the little group in the booth eyeing her. “If we don’ get movin’, we’re goin’ to be here for a long while.”

  Remy threw money on the table, glided to his feet as silent and as fluid as any cat she’d ever seen. There was something feral about the way he moved, muscles playing subtly beneath his clothes. Every movement was graceful, and yet masculine.

  Bijou knew she was falling further under his spell. He’d been the only man in her life that had ever
counted for anything and she’d allowed him to grow into a fantasy hero. He was sixteen years older than she was and he saw her as that broken child. He had no way of knowing she’d always been too old for her age—she’d had to grow up fast and learn to be responsible.

  Remy’s body shielded hers as she rose from the seat, his roped muscles and wide shoulders blocking her from the view of the others in the café. He took her hand and her heart sang. There was nothing she could do about her reaction to him. Her pulse raced, and he had to have known, but he simply moved against her, guiding her without words, just with his body, back toward the kitchen, away from the others.

  She allowed herself to indulge her fantasy for just a little while. Remy made her feel safe and cared about, when she’d never had that, not once in her life since that moment when she was eight and he’d come for her and saved her from herself. She fit beneath his shoulder and when he moved her in front of him, his hands on her hips, she was never so conscious of a human being as she was of him.

  Bijou inhaled. She should have taken in all the smells of the kitchen, but instead, there was only the scent of Remy drawn deep into her lungs. She swore she’d be able to pick him out of a crowd by scent alone. He seemed to invade every part of her, rushing through her bloodstream like a firestorm.

  Thereze held the door for them as they hurried through. Emile was waiting, his smile eager, gaze on Bijou.

  “I hope you enjoyed your meal,” he greeted.

  “The food was fantastic,” Bijou said. “You’re an amazin’ chef. In all honesty, and I’ve eaten in some really great restaurants, clearly you are a master at what you do.”

  It was easy to sound sincere, because she really meant it. He didn’t seem like the prima donna chefs she’d met, although she noticed his kitchen staff didn’t make a move toward her, not even when he handed her his apron to sign. Someone had gotten a special pen to write on the material with and clearly that was brand-new. Emile had made certain he was prepared.

  Bijou took the pen and carefully wrote a short note, praising his café and the amazing food, adding that it was wonderful to meet him and then scrawling her name under the message.

  “I hope you’ll come back,” Emile said, nearly glowing.

  “We need a picture,” Thereze insisted, holding up a camera.

  “No, no need. I don’ want to bother you,” Emile said, but he stepped up to Bijou’s side and wrapped a long arm around her shoulders.

  Bijou glanced toward the kitchen door. Thankfully no one could see them, and the flood of people asking for pictures wouldn’t come. She looked up at Remy’s face. His eyes had gone from a deep blue to a strange, startling green, almost glowing. His eyes were fixed on Emile, and he looked . . . dangerous. There was no other word for it. He looked as if he might tear Emile limb from limb.

  She was suddenly afraid. He looked more animal than man, his face and body utterly still, his entire being focused on Emile. The hair on her neck stood up and something wild deep inside unfurled and stretched. She could feel the languid stretch and that same steady focus on Remy as he had on Emile. She blinked and the strange wildness in her faded, gone as if it had never been. Sometimes she felt she had faulty wiring, that elusive feeling blinking on and off.

  Remy’s gaze jumped to her face. His expression softened. His eyes grew warm and he winked at her.

  Her heart went into double time. There it was—the perfect reason not to trust Remy or be charmed by him. She didn’t know what just happened, but she knew what she’d seen. She was a great observer of humans, and Remy was extremely dangerous. Hidden beneath that very charming and sexy and—so okay, it had to be said—attractive, magnetic, and every other word for just plain a woman’s fantasy, was something else. She’d had her warning. It couldn’t be denied no matter how much she wanted to do it. Under the surface of her childhood hero was something dark and scary.

  Damn it all. She was going to be one of those women. She smiled for the camera as she acknowledged to herself that flash of truth wasn’t going to get in her way of dreaming about him. All it took was that smile, the warmth in his eyes, that focus on her making her feel as if Remy saw only her, not everything and everyone around him, which was far closer to the truth.

  Remy held out his hand to her and she put hers into his without even hesitating, without even reprimanding herself for being an idiot and not running for the hills when she had the chance.

  Remy leaned close, his mouth against her ear, his warm breath stirring her blood into a surging wave of pure heat rushing through her body. “Stop thinkin’ so much,” he admonished.

  Who was thinking? Certainly not her, especially when he brought her hand to his mouth and brushed a kiss along the back of it, and then pulled her hand against his chest and trapped it there—right over his beating heart. She was well and truly lost. A certified idiot when it came to romance and men, because she didn’t care what that look had been all about. She cared that Remy was holding her hand so close to him that she could feel that steady beat of his heart.

  He hurried her out of the café through the back entrance and maneuvered his way down the block toward the voodoo shop. She went with him willingly, enjoying the feel of his body moving against hers as they walked together.

  “I don’ like men very much,” Bijou admitted, compelled to confess.

  “I know,” he said, in no way perturbed.

  “I’m just sayin’,” she insisted. “You need to hear me, Remy.” She didn’t care if she was making a fool of herself. It had to be said. She looked good, she wasn’t going to pretend she didn’t know that, but she was broken. She didn’t relate to men. She didn’t let them close to her. She couldn’t have a physical relationship because she couldn’t ever let herself get that intimate.

  Maybe she was reading Remy all wrong, but she wasn’t going to lead him on. She knew she was flirtatious with him, and she was so attracted physically she wanted to rub herself up against him like a cat, but she also knew she wouldn’t get past the initial first base. She’d rather make a fool of herself than have him think they could have any kind of physical relationship.

  “I hear you, Blue. It’s just that you’re not makin’ any sense right now. Keep it up and I’ll have to show you what I mean and then you’re going to go all rabbit on me and try runnin’.” There was amusement in his voice.

  Once again she had no idea what he meant. Remy could be quite cryptic when he wanted.

  “It’s not that,” she said. “I’m not a coward. I may throw up when I see a brutal murder, but I don’ run, not even from stalkers.”

  “That’s a good thing, because you’re about to get another one.”

  “Very funny.” She was through trying to tell him she wasn’t going to sleep with him no matter how charming he was. She wasn’t built for one-night stands and she didn’t trust anyone enough to actually sleep in a bed with them, so she was sorry, out of luck, even if the man was fine like Remy. He wouldn’t listen to her, so that was on his shoulders.

  His soft laughter brushed against the insides of her mind, curling her toes and sending alarms shrieking through her entire body. She was lost when she was in his presence—so consumed by childhood hero worship she couldn’t think straight.

  Remy’s fingers tightened around hers and he stopped abruptly right in front of the stairs to the voodoo shop. She was so close to him she felt the heat pouring off his body and tiny electrical charges seemed to arc between them. Bijou stared at the buttons of his shirt. Self-preservation was an absolute must. He had other ideas. He lifted her chin with one finger, forcing her gaze to jump to his.

  There was an invitation to laughter there and something more. It was that dark, rising lust mixed with genuine affection that fascinated her. He bent his head slowly toward hers even as he gathered her closer, shifting his body just slightly. His lips whispered against hers, the merest of brushes, but the feel of his mouth against hers was too exquisite to just pull away.

  “I’m goin’ t
o kiss you, Blue. So don’ do anythin’ rash.”

  She blinked at him. “Why?”

  “Because I know a thing or two about makin’ a public statement.” His hand slipped to her throat, and he lowered his head that scant few millimeters to her mouth.

  Time stopped for her. The ground under her feet shifted. His mouth came down on hers, his lips moving, teasing, teeth nipping at her bottom lip so that she gasped. Instantly his tongue swept inside, tangling with hers, taking command. He led her right over a cliff where there was no way back. Lights danced at the back of her eyes and her body seemed to melt against his. He was the one who broke the kiss, slowly easing back, kissing the corners of her mouth before lifting his head.

  She blinked rapidly, trying to come back down to earth when she’d been soaring across the sky just moments earlier. Taking a breath, Remy’s hands steadying her, she glanced around, hoping for a rescue. Her body didn’t feel her own anymore. He’d laid claim to her and all he’d done was kiss her.

  Blinking again, she focused on the buildings across the street. Two cars were parked close together and both had cameras sticking out of the windows. A man stood in the street with a professional camera. She recognized him as one of the men who often followed her and took candid shots for tabloids. His name was Bob Carson and he often made her life miserable. Ryan Cooper had draped himself against a tree and he glared at her.

  “Remy,” she hissed, stiffening. “You’re goin’ to be in the tabloids and on the Internet and everywhere else. Are you crazy?”

  “It’s called making a statement, and I think I just did that. In a matter of minutes gossip and rumors will be spreadin’ like wildfire not just through New Orleans, but everywhere. I’m countin’ on those videos going up.”

  He looked so self-satisfied she wanted to smack him. “You have no idea what you’ve done. People are goin’ to think . . .” She trailed off, pressing a hand to her mouth. He had no idea the firestorm he just brought down on himself.

  “Exactly.” Smug satisfaction and male amusement.

  Bijou shook her head. “Remy, you don’ want the tabloids comin’ after you. They’ll follow you everywhere and say horrible things about us—and you. They could put your job in jeopardy. They’ll try hacking your phone and bugging your house. Nothin’ in your life will be sacred or off limits. I don’ want that for you.”